Orion the Hunter
by Zandoz
Summary: TommyRyan the son of Otis of House of 1000 Corpses fame and his continuing adventures all grown up and a government agent, no less. A crazy cult knows Tommy's dark secret and have plans of their own for him. This would be part 3, after Son of Otis. Ye
1. Default Chapter

Note: This is very rough at the moment and kinda cheesy lol, but it's a first attempt to flesh out an idea that popped in my head about Tommy the son of Otis all grown up. This may go off on a tangent too far to really be called a House of 1000 Corpses fan fiction, but since he's Otis's son I guess that makes it one...now my brain hurts lol.Parts of this have actuall been written but I didn't know what to do with it. Anyways, ya'all know I'm an Otis freak by now and he's liable to make an appearance somewhere sooner or later. I just gave myself an idea methinks...

-June, 2002-

The young man rolled over in bed, arm going across the unmoving slender body laying next to him. He sat up, suddenly fearing that she was dead. A brown-haired girl deep in slumber greeted his vision, not a dead blonde cheerleader on blood-stained sheets. Letting out a deep breath he ran his fingers through matted hair dyed black, showing near-white roots for a strange surreal effect. He still had the dreams, the visions at times which is why he hated sleeping alone.

They weren't even lovers, Linny and him; and there was no end of speculation about their relationship. They worked well together, they played well together. They even...well, slept well together, but as to a physical consumation there was none. The number of girls he'd fucked he could count on one hand and at twenty five years of age he'd had plenty of chances. He knew he had issues which is why he is good at what he does.

Agent for the Bureau of Paranormal Investigation. An agency which officially doesn't exist. Dedicated to the wacked-out, unsavory tasks the other organizations wanted nothing to do with.

Sighing he settled back down in the covers wondering if he'd ever have a semi-normal relationship with a woman. Then he considered if he really wanted one. Linny stirred, smacking her lips and stretching. "Ryan, what time is it"

"3:15 AM," he replied.

"MMmm," she said groggily. "I should go ahead and get up." The woman's shoulder-length hair fuzzed out in all directions and tickled the man's nose as she got out of bed. She was wearing the purple underwear set this time, he noted with interest but as usual didn't pursue the matter. He blamed it on his frustrating separation of his beloved cousin he hadn't seen in years. Idly he thought about where she might be and what she might be doing. Ryan knew it was no good, contacting her would be disastrous to them both, children of a sociopathic clan of killers.

Rattling of cups and pans came from the kitchen...Linny must be brewing that thick-assed uber-coffee she seemed to love. She had an assignment to work on today, but he was currently free. Maybe he'd call Jim and see how he was doing. His cell phone started beeping, and he'd left it in the living room. "Ryan, your cell phone's ringing," Linny hollered to him. Grumbling, he blearily stumbled into the living room and answered the insistant ringing.

"Ryan," came a well-articulated man's voice.

"Yes."

"Ryan Baker," the voice asked.

"Uh, yeah."

"You're the Chosen. Wait for the signs, you won't miss them" the man hung up.

"What the hell was that about," Linny asked him.

"Haven't a clue. Probably some nut," he replied casually, but he had bad feelings about the call. And his feelings were rarely wrong.

Then BPI called with some lovely news of some ritual killings. At the crime scene were documents with Ryan's real identity: Thomas Orion Robins. Only Ryan himself and a handful of those in charge at the Agency knew his background; it had been hidden very carefully for everyone's benefit. Now some two-bit religious cult was proclaiming it to the world, and guess who's the best person for a case like this? Thomas Robins, aka Tommy Driftwood aka Ryan Baker.

Linny was working on her second cup of uber-coffee as he relayed the information to her. She offered to come with him. "I like breaking rules ever now and then," she drawled. It shouldn't be surprising he would feel comfortable with a southern gal, after all.

"That's ok," he told her, spreading butter on some toast as he stood at the counter. "I think I can handle these bozos."

"Those are the most ridiculous pair of underwear I've ever seen," the woman declared. She was referring to the silk burgundy boxer shorts he with flaming hearts was sporting at the moment. He chortled as he approached the small kitchen table and set down the toast. Linny finished her coffee and put her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly. He was immediately aroused but couldn't find it in himself to respond. "No" she breathed, looking in his golden brown eyes. She felt safe and comfortable around him at all times, but sometimes she wondered if he liked girls at all. "Did someone hurt you?"

"It's-complicated," he replied.

Yes, his life was nothing if not complicated. Later that day he pulled up to the unobtrusive building that housed the Bureau for Paranormal Investigation kicking himself for not giving it to Linny but good. He definately stuck out among the smart-dressed bunch there with his Gothic hair, jeans and Converse All-star tennis shoes. His mentor Arthur Santos briefed him on the particulars of the case.

The Church of the All: a religion meant to include all beliefs and peoples. Originally started as a Christian sect, it now spoke to Muslims, Pagans, Shamans and Jews to join in peaceful brotherhood. Sounded good on paper, but what it boiled down to was a group who felt they were right and everyone else was wrong. They subscribed to the New World Order idea of overthrowing all the world's governments and setting up one run by followers of the All.

A triple homicide, two women and one man, arranged in different ways. One was splayed as if being crucified, another had been executed in the pagan Threefold Death: strangled, drowned and throat slit. The other had simply been shot in the head. What was most disturbing to Ryan was the message in blood written in Aramaic.

_Behold, the Pale One comes, harbinger of chaos. Truly of chaos born, bringing death upon seeds of evil. To unleash his power his blood must be spilled. _

Cleansing.

Thomas Orion Robins.

Ryan sat in silence after he read the files. "Pretty specific, aren't they?"

Santos nodded his graying head, stubbing out a cigarrette in the ashtray, one of the few items gracing the stainless steel table in the spartan room. Ryan asked if there were any leads, to which Santos answered tehre were none. "This is where your intuitive powers come in" he spoke, pacing the room.

The scene was an abandoned warehouse, everything left as it had been found. Photos had been taken but the investigators were awaiting Ryan's arrival. Slowly he made a circuit around the perimeter then entered the large structure, making an inside circuit as well. The violence of the unfortunate peoples' deaths smacked him in the face. Opening himself up often did that, and this time he was nearly blindsided. Pete Bell, another agent on the scene, kept Ryan from falling and inquired if he was all right. "I'm fine," the pale-skinned lad assured him. "I'm still learning to control it."

"That bignosed Greek will fuck you up royally one 'o these days," Pete declared. "Crazy unnatural shit."

"Forget it, I'm ok," Ryan told him, feeling defensive about Santos. Art had seen to his training and looked after him, after all. The bodies were laying in the manner they had been dispatched by the killers, and Ryan discerned there had been many at this site. A ritual, perhaps? A powerful prescence had been here, directing them all. The cult leader, probably, and the young man had never felt a psychic imprint so strongly. Excitedly he made his report to Santos.

The clean-shaven man opened his steel grey eyes which darted about the room like flies. Attendants were observing him intently, waiting on his word. "It seems I've misjudged our quarry's prowess," he intoned, soft voice quite powerful despite it's lack of volume. "He'll be onto us sooner than I planned. It doesn't matter. Summon Electra." One of the attendants hurried to obey. The visions were coming more often and more strongly these days. The time of reckoning would soon be upon them.

_-Victims unrelated and didn't know each other. _

-Were murdered elsewhere and brought to crime scene. First victim, female preacher of a Freewill Baptist church, crucified. Second victim male member of so-called group of witches, strangled, submerged in water then throat cut. Third victim a female biological researcher and notorious atheist, shot in the temple with a small-caliber bullet.

-The message on the warehouse wall was written in all three persons' blood.

-No fingerprints or DNA evidence found other than the victims'.

Arthur finished the report then tossed the files on the desk before him, rubbing his large dark eyes. "There's something else, Ryan. We can't prove the Church of the All perpetrated these crimes, but we do know they've begun a feud with a 'coven' of Satanists. Might wanna get down to their hangouts and see what's happening. I have a feeling you'd fit right in" he smiled at his protege. "But wait a day or so, and go in disguise."

Ryan accepted the suggestion and departed Arthur's office rather cheerily. That boy was always eager for a new challenge, he thought proudly. Santos was one of the few who knew the young man's albino psycho heritage, a long line of monsters and madmen. How was this sweet, hardworking lad the end result of such a lineage? Only Heaven knew, he supposed. He was only glad that he was on their side and not a loose cannon running amok on an unsuspecting world.

A decrepit old camper sat forlornly between a couple of scrubby trees, somewhere in the Midwest. Well, you could say it was officially the Middle of Nowhere. A late model Chevy Blazer wound its way down the dirt road, coming to a stop in front of said decrepit camper. Ryan exited the vehicle in sunglasses and long-sleeved shirt to protect his half-albino er, assets from the glaring sun. He was a Chevy man through and through like his mother, much to his peers' chagrin. His feet echoed off the dried-out ground, kicking up dust as he approached.

A man emerged from the camper clad only in his underwear and brandishing a double-barrelled shotgun. His greying hair was back in a loose ponytail, wearing a patch over an empty eyesocket. He sometimes wore a glass eye so as to not unnerve folks, but it didn't match his pretty grey-blue eye that remained. "Jim, it's me" Ryan hollered to him, voice calm. The man lowered his weapon and smiled at Ryan. "What the hell you doing?" Ryan asked him.

"Well, I was entertaining," he gruffly replied. "Weren't expecting you up." Well, that could explain the fact he wasn't wearing any pants. Jim opened the door to his domicile. "Honey, my boy's here and we need to talk in private. Take the truck up to the grocery store if ya don't mind."

After the trashy-looking woman had left the premises they sat down together, adopted son and caretaker. "That's a different one" the young man observed as he took off the sunglasses.

Jim Baker snorted with mirth, pouring them both a drink. Whiskey, of course. "A man needs a pleasant diversion every now an' then." He handed a glass to Ryan. The lad noticed the scars riddling the older man's body, the wrinkles and the pain in his good eye as if for the first time. Jim was getting old, he realized, and he didn't know what to do with the knowledge. His foster-father had been in the Vietnam war, had a run-in with Ryan's real father's murdering family, been institutionalized and had looked after him when he lost his parents. "Yes, I think I deserve to relax now," he answered Ryan's unspoken thought. Such it was with them since they'd been changed by the experiments.

"I wasn't accusing you of anything," protested Ryan, knocking back the shotglass.

"So what you doing up here at the moment"

"I...well, I miss you."

"And?"

The pale man sighed. A soldier's way, short and to the point with Jim. Against the Agency's rules he told Jim about the case he was working on, and how it scared him that the message was aimed at him personally. He knew he could trust the man, as far as the world was concerned the old vet didn't even exist. The old man sat in thought for a few minutes, finishing his drink. "This is big, kid. Very big, but I think you can handle it. I'll be in mind-contact with you. And what about that girl you've taken up with, she got your back"

"Linny's on another case at the moment, but she always finds a way to be there for me," Ryan answered.

"When you gonna marry her," the man grumped.

"Jim," Ryan groaned and rolled his eyes.

"I don't have any premonitions about your cult buddies, but I'll keep you posted," Jim snickered at the young man. "And you really need to fuck the shit outta that nice southern belle."

"Dammit Jim, you know I'm all messed up in the head about it. And stop being so vulgar, you with those lot lizards you bring home."

"Hey, nothing better to clear the head than a good lay. And you know I don't mean it, Tommy."

The use of his true name made his blood run cold but he gave no outward sign, and shielded his mind from Jim's scrutiny. They'd learned to do that long ago when they saw things in each other's minds that neither wanted seen, especially after Ryan caught Jim's memory of the passionate night he'd had with Ryan's mother Stacy. The boy felt icky for days.

The drive back to eastern Virginia was a long one-Ryan hated to fly and drove his trusty Blazer everywhere he went nearly. As soon as he got home he got out his gear and strapped the arsenal he wore all over his body. His tall, well-built frame distressingly often got a lot of attention no matter how he done himself up. His platinum hair he'd dyed black and the roots were growing out which added to his overall appearance. When he was in high school he dyed it auburn which was the color of his mother's and uncle's locks, and it looked quite natural. In fact he resembled his uncle Tom (his namesake) even more with his hair that color.

Early that morning he tailed a small group of purported Satanists, listening intently. These were the junior members, the dabblers, and they were the cliche all black wearing depressed teen types. The Church of All wouldn't have a problem finding these morons, but they weren't the whole truth obviously. Dark alleys and seedy corners they threaded their way across, and Ryan stuck to them. This was his element, the cool dark of night, and he was at home. Jack the Ripper found this time to be the best for murder, and that blood flowed through the young man's veins as well. The satanic gang would be impressed if they knew.

From their conversation he learned the names of the leader of the All, Eric Logan and confirmed that they were indeed at odds with them. Several names of key players were also dropped and Ryan committed them to memory. Silent as an owl Ryan slipped away and took a circuituous route home in case he was being followed. The suburban house's lights were off when he arrived and Linny was already in bed. He washed off the makeup he'd been wearing and began taking off the myriad weapons he was packing. The woman's training was not less than his own and she was awake in a few heartbeats. She smiled when she realized it was him and relaxed back in bed again. "Oooh, the goth look. You bad boy." There was the hillbilly accent again. Her dark hair was frizzed as usual and she was wearing her skimpy yellow nightgown. Gods, but she was fascinating.

Ryan snorted as he deposited his boots by the bedside. Would he ever tell her the truth about his past, his heritage? Was that what his hangups were about? He was living on borrowed time anyway, so does it matter? Aw, hell with it. He crawled into bed and to Linny's surprise planted a big kiss on her. She responded with enthusiam, gladly helping him out of his black clothing. She didn't understand why he felt he was a freak, she thought he was beautiful. He was big without being fat or too muscular, his features pleasing to the eye, his skin and eyes unusual to look at. He jerked her flimsy gown up and her panties down as the excitement built inside him.

With pleasure she opened her tanned thighs to him, and he was amazed at the desire she had for him. He let go of his inhibitions at last and enjoyed her warm embrace, a long sigh escaping his full lips as he entered her. She was a short but well-proportioned girl, lean from Bureau training and the targets she chased in her line of work. She moved with him and bit her lip in ecstacy. She climaxed first and he came soon after, rolling off her but arms still around her. They fell asleep in that passionate embrace, sated.

The man sat bolt upright in his bed drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Stormy grey eyes began registering what they saw: his own bedroom draped in nighttime. Blank walls stared back at him as he calmed down and considered what he'd been Shown tonight. Oh, the Deity was good to him. "Electra" he yelled to the door of his chamber. Within seconds a huge blonde woman appeared.

"You wanted me, Brother?" She was concerned. She would be, considering he was the only parent she'd ever known.

"He has spoken to me again," he wiped his forehead and threw the bedcovers aside. "Those Devil-loving twits are getting in the way again, but I know how to kill two birds with one stone. Get Gauthier, we haven't much time."

"Yes, Brother Logan," the powerful-looking lady turned on her heel and obeyed. His faithful second and bodyguard was brusque and effective in everything she did.

Eric gazed out the curtainless window that looked out on the nearby forest and tried to still his thoughts. The Pale One appeared in his dreams and visions more and more often and it was clear that he held great power. Power needed by the Children if they were to transform the world, to turn it from its path of indulgence and destruction. His church grew daily but there were still so many who were not of the All. _My work is never done_, he thought. There was no sexism, racism, or the like in this group and they promoted hardworking, simple ideals which appealed to a lot of people. Most of the faithful, however, had no idea of the underlying agenda of their organization.

"So what's with the Threefold Death," asked the lady, tapping her fingernails on the desk. "Is that for enemies or traitors"

"It's a pagan thing" responded Ryan. "It was usually someone of noble birth who was sacrificed, and it was an honor. It's sort of a last-ditch plea to the gods to hear their prayer."

"Brutal way to pray," she said as she pored over the photos of the bodies. Her name was Anne Dobbs and she was part of the Support Team, better known as Clean-up and at times Cover-up Crew. She aided and recovered agents, concocted cover stories and courted the press. She still ventured forth into the field due to her no-nonsense nature and unerring aim. She was in her late 30's, divorced, and the closest thing he had to a mother now.

"It was done in extreme times of famine or war, and never against anyone's will. Except for this time, of course. And the man was a pagan, and the Christian was crucified. Definately a message there." Anne nodded her agreement with that.

Director Swanson sat quietly absorbing everything said. "From what you've told us Ryan, one of the Luciferians' High Priests is a target. We want you to tail him and apprehend the culprits. We're almost sure they'll be members of the All, and once we have them we can work on the evidence we need. Agent Dobbs will cover you, and one of our telepaths will be monitoring you. Good luck and be careful," said the soft-spoken black man. It wasn't often that the Head of the Bureau gave you orders in person.

_Yeah, thanks a lot_, Ryan said to himself.

Flitting from shadow to shadow Ryan observed the well-dressed fellow as he went on his errands, just like anyone else except for a trip to an occult bookstore.

_Notice anything_, spoke Mary in his mind, one of BPI's telepaths.

_Nothin' yet_, he replied. He could detect her joy at dealing with someone else with the Talent; it was so much harder trying to link with someone who didn't over long distances. He mentally grumbled it must be nice sitting in a comfy chair safe at Headquarters. She laughed.

_If they thought it would help they'd send my ass out with you, _she mind-spoke to him. _I ain't special._

_Agent Koontz you're distracting me_. He was sent a picture of her sticking her tongue out at him. Ryan went back to watching his quarry, all his senses straining to see if there were any danger to the priest. His reddish-blond hair was cropped short, was dressed in a tailored suit and appeared completely unaware of anything. He turned a corner and Ryan unobtrusively did the same, melting into the urban environment. Just then something tickled Ryan's awareness-someone was moving in, several someones in fact. Then he noticed something.

_They were being shielded_! He could detect nothing of their thoughts. _You got that, Koontz_? She responded in the affirmative. The four intruders moved closer so Ryan blasted a challenge to them telepathically and was met with surprise, but they didn't desist. The Luciferian finally realized something was wrong and turned, eyes going wide. "Down, Sanders," yelled Ryan, pulling his gun, but the man had already hit the pavement. Gunshot cracked through the city air, and both men were amazed that this could be happening in an area like this in broad daylight.

The dark-clad man dove behind a parked car, returned fire. Then he found he was in a crossfire; somebody ELSE was shooting at him. _Shit_! At this close range it was deafening; back at the Agency Mary winced as she experienced everything in Ryan's head. He poked his head up for a second and was pleased that the priest had taken cover behind a dumpster. He brushed against the other group's minds and saw they were Sanders' men. "You All motherfuckers," screamed one of them. "We knew you'd be coming," Semi-automatic fire richocheted off the car.

"Hey" shouted Ryan. "I'm not with the All, I'm trying to help. Goddammit, stop shooting at me." To his relief Anne started laying down cover fire from her position, driving everyone to shelter for the moment. The two Satanists were dressed like businessmen and they dashed to the refuge the priest had taken amid a hail of bullets.

"Come out, Baker," came a female's voice across the street. "We know it's you. You're the one we want anyway. Come on, ya monstrous bastard"

"Who are you," questioned Ryan, stalling for time.

"We are the Children," the woman hollered back. "We have blocked our prescence from everyone in the city, no one knows what is happening. You have no one to help you, Pale One. We can always shoot the lady who came with you, the Satanists, and anyone else on this block."

_KOONTZ I NEED SOME HELP HERE_, he declared.

_I'm on it, I've told Santos already_.

The young man decided to take his chances with the Satanists and made a mad dash for the dumpster. Anne began shooting again, trying to keep them off Ryan but a tearing sensation ripped through his upper arm as he gained cover. "Fuckballs," he said between clenched teeth. The priest and his followers gawked as this strange-looking man ripped off a section of his overshirt and using his teeth tied it around an arm spewing blood.

"Who the hell are YOU? What's going on," Sanders demanded, his brain whirling.

"Ryan, pleased to meet you. The others must be the All-I've been investigating some crimes linked with them."  
The followers reloaded their weapons while keeping an eye on their enemies. "They're coming closer," one informed them.

"Ok, Sanders I need you to trust me," spoke Ryan earnestly. He told him to get himself and his companions the hell outta dodge, and to go to BPI and tell them everything they knew and everything that happened. They would recieve temporary protection. Sanders wanted to know what Ryan was going to do. "Kick ass and take names" he replied grimly. The Satanist noticed his arm had stopped bleeding and that he didn't seem to feel discomfort now. _No, I'm not...normal_, Ryan sent to his brain. _GO_! The men complied without further ado.

_Hang in there_, Mary reassured him. _Hey, what are you doing? Baker? RYAN?_

"I'm comin out," he yelled to the attackers. He could feel Anne cursing from across the way. _Stay back, Anne! This is too much for us. I may have a chance, they want me alive. Stay back!_

He stepped around the corner, holding his hands up. "Drop the gun" ordered the woman, coming into view. Boy was she an Amazon, with a scowl to match. He did as she commanded (never mind he had several sidearms strapped to his person). The three others appeared, weapons trained on him as he walked slowly toward them. Almost funnily the big woman was wearing a plaid mid-calf length skirt and a sleeveless green blouse, sporting a whopping automatic rifle. She smiled, could there be a slight bit of relief in the expression? Whoever's blocking their minds must be powerful, indeed. The pleased expression began to fade off her rugged face when he pulled out the small-calibre pistol and put two bullets in one of her henchmen's heads...shouts and screams resounded and as he aimed for one of the others diving to the ground a small, sharp pain entered his neck. His arm immediately felt like two tons, the gun clattered to the pavement out of wooden fingers. In desperation he leapt at the blonde woman who was swearing and screaming how come the Son of Evil hadn't went down yet. His large fist connected with her cheek, her head snapped back. She pushed against his chest and he overbalanced, connecting hard with the ground.

His eyelids fluttered another time or two then shut.

_Shit,_ went Mary as Ryan's consciousness slipped through her fingers. He was still alive but other than that he was lost to her.


	2. Amazon Women and Religious Madmen

Linny was drawing a nice bath and searching for her bath salts. Opening one of the cabinets in the bathroom she jumped at the creature she discovered waiting for her...a realistic plastic snake planted just for her enjoyment. Or Ryan's. That bastard! The young woman swallowed her heart back down to her chest, stooped and tossed the idiotic toy across the room. Doffing her bathrobe she started to adjust the faucet when a voice boomed in her head urgently, knocking her off her feet and into the bathtub.

_Sweetcheeks, my boy's in trouble! Something's really wrong, I can't track him._

"Mother love bone! Jim? That you," she spoke to no one, sitting up in the tub and sloshing more water in the floor.

_Course it's me. It's takin' a lot outta me to talk to you this far away, so get goin! I can tell you where that agency chick last picked up patterns from him._

"Ok, ok," Linny said, stepping carefully out of the bathtub onto the swamped bathroom tile. "Time to TCB."

_Hail to the King, baby!_, chuckled Ryan's foster-father.

Slowly he prised his eyelids open, smacked his lips, and wondered if somebody had slipped something in his drink. Then it started to come back to him. Sitting up from the low cot he'd been placed he found he wasn't shackled, which was what he expected. However he was in a secure room with no immediate way out upon first inspection. All his weapons had been removed but all his clothes and other posessions were undisturbed. The room he was inhabiting was simply furnished, a table and chairs, cot, a few shelves with books, no windows. He attempted mindlinking with Mary, then Linny, and finally Jim, to no avail. He was being shielded by some powerful force, and for once it felt strange hearing nothing else but his own thoughts in his head. It made him feel...ordinary.

It wasn't long before the stout door was unlocked and several guards filed in, followed by a nondescript fortysomething man who nonetheless carried the air of authority. Dark grey eyes regarded him earnestly, seeming to hold him where he stood. Then he smiled, a genuine warmth spreading over his nonextraordinary face. "What a pleasant, handsome young man you are, Tommy," he spoke at last. "It's too bad we couldn't meet in better circumstances," he said with regret. He had a clear annunciation and nearly no accent, but Ryan detected a faint trace of a Michigan nasal tone.

He decided playing dumb wouldn't work, so he merely asked how he knew who he was.

"I have my ways. The Good Deity is good to me," he responded matter-of-factly. He was aware of the young man's psyche brushing against his own, and smiled. "I intend to kill you, Mr. Robins, to save the world. Does that cure your curiosity?"

"What if he's not the only devilspawn," interjected one of the guards, obviously agitated. He was short with dark skin and hair.

"I'm sure he's the last of his line, Omar. Oh, there are relatives, _kin-folk,_" he singsonged, affecting an exaggerated southern accent. "But no more direct descendants of the killers of old."

"Why in the hell would you need to kill me?"

"To bring about the rebirth of the world."

Ryan stared at Brother Eric Logan, and saw that he was quite serious. "You're fucking crazy," the young man spat.

"The All works in mysterious ways," came the simple reply.

_Let-me-in..._

_Fuck off!_ Ryan mindspoke. He fought the man psychically, keeping parts of his memories locked from Logan's reach.

_What are you hiding? I already know all about you, Tommy Driftwood, Ryan Baker, Thomas Robins, murderer!_

"ARRGH," went Ryan, his head in his hands. It seemed the reverend had finally reached the limit of his power, the only sign a twitching of his thin lips with the strain. To an outsider it would appear that the two men simply stared intently at one another, but it was a contest of wills. The young man found he'd never been so sorely tested, but he wouldn't give up the location of his mother and father or even that they still lived. He was brought to his knees, the pain like sharp knives in his skull just twisting-twisting...

Blood oozed from his nostrils as he toppled over.

Eric clutched at Omar, his aide, to keep from falling himself. "Brother? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," he assured him. He suddenly wasn't so sure that killing the man was the answer, but he was dangerous left alive.

The young man's consciousness seeped slowly back to him as he heard someone being admitted in his room, followed by chuckles. He woke up in the position he had fallen on the floor and he rubbed his sore head. His visitor was the hulking blonde woman who came forward and hit him square in the face, adding to his discomfort. "Just returning the favor" she responded to his bewildered expression. He realized the men watching the holding room exit had been laughing at her expense.

"Logan doesn't know you're in here," Ryan observed, rubbing his now-sore cheek. "Not that it really matters since he's gonna kill me anyway."

She seemed a bit taken aback since she'd been secure in her master's shielding her mind from enemies-however, the BPI gentleman was still skilled in reading people, even without his telepathy. "Have you no faith in anything," she asked him, genuinely curious. She'd also always been secure in her beliefs.

"I have faith in my own abilities and my teammates'."

"Haven't you ever thought of a higher power that supercedes all else? Have you never thought of the afterlife, or had to rely on someone other than yourself or your companions? It will happen sometime, you know," she studied him as one would a museum exhibit.

"Are you trying to convert me," he mocked. "You better save your breath, lady. I'm descended from Attila the Hun and Jack the Ripper and all that jazz. I'm not a lizard and you're not a little girl, so stop poking me with a stick."

Her brown eyes flashed in anger. "Godless little _freak_. I want...I want to understand you. Even the Devil believes in God and does His work, however unintentionally."

"Understand this: I will fight you and your master as long as I have breath, and my teammates won't stop until they find me or avenge my death. You can have faith in that."

Engraged, Electra left him, stomping down the hall. Ryan laughed at her back, pleased with himself.

_The screams bothered him the most, even above the crushing of bones and moans of the animated dead. He attempted to shut it out as he ran but something, perhaps morbid curiosity, made him turn his head to see a seasoned police officer put several rounds into the ghouls surrounding him. A few went down with bullets in the head, the others kept on coming, reaching for him. The cop didn't give up even when a zombie pulled his arm off with a tearing crack, fluids and blood dousing the neighboring corpses who licked their jaws hungrily. Only after they rent his flesh and yanked out his entrails did he finally let loose a moist, hopeless scream. Ryan felt like such a shit, leaving like this, but his mother had given him a chance to escape and try again, and more for her than anything else he took it. The teenager reached the truck moments before his newly appointed protector Jim did, but there were no keys in the ignition. Zombies moved closer, ravaging anything living in their path. Fuckballs!_

He jerked awake, breathing and sweating profusely-God, was he dreaming again? Rubbing his two-toned hair he was suddenly worried that his dreams were being watched. He didn't figure that that dream would show the All anything that would endanger his family or the Bureau; he had that section of his brain locked down pretty tight. His finely chiseled face was pensive as he searched his surroundings another time. Same room, still no visible exit.

Electra observed him on the hidden cameras. She was more fascinated with him than she let on, one of the reasons being he was completely outside her whole life's experience. All she'd ever known was Eric and the Church, and here was this Outsider that she could get close to. Not only an Outsider though, one of the demonspawn they intended to sacrifice to the Deity. Unknowing the tall, broad-shouldered man looked right at one of the cameras as he poked about his prison. Ryan had his mother Stacy's beautiful golden eyes and endearing smile and his father's pale coloring, only not as severe. His strong nose and full lips also came from his dad, a backwoods sociopathic maniac who also passed to his son the passion and rage that fueled the legends of monsters that wore a human shape. What Electra beheld when she looked at him was a male all at once dangerous, desirable, mysterious and repulsive.

"Keeping an eye on him, eh," came Eric's pleasant voice behind her. She whirled guiltily and completely surprised. Logan watched the monitors a few moments, turned back to his lieutenant and informed her he would be slain the next new moon, which was two nights from now, all the better to harness the energies to be released. Electra bowed her head in obedience and stood unmoving and staring after him after he departed the room.

"But aren't you concerned about your soul? If you die unbelieving you will face terrible punishment," argued Electra. The muscular woman was trying to sound reasonable.

"Jeez you're persistant," declared Ryan, sitting across the table from the blonde. "If you were out in the street you'd have nearly everyone converted to your wacky religion."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Why do YOU care? I'm your enemy, my very DNA marks me as a tool of evil according to your precious Brother Logan."

It was midafternoon and he'd been fighting sleep to keep his dreams from giving anything away. Tomorrow night was his scheduled execution. It was a cheery thought. Oddly enough he'd been fed, which he ate even though imminent death was not conducive to a hearty appetite. And to top it all off, Amazon Woman was tormenting him again. He really missed Linny and a change of clothes, he was still wearing the jeans, boots and shirt he'd been wearing since day before yesterday.

"I'm worried about your soul-I worry about all souls" came the reply, but Ryan sensed there was more to it than that. Her expression changed abruptly. Her master was mindspeaking with her, it seemed.

_You can't hide anything from me, my daughter. He amuses you, eh? He is not for you, Electra, but you can watch him if you like. You will need experience with males to continue the All's work later on._

_Brother, I don't-I didn't-_

_Electra, Electra! Do you think I'm mad at you? We're all human, after all. The Divine knows this, they made us the way we are. Just know that he will die at the appointed time; it has been preordained._

"What did Daddy want," Ryan asked sweetly. His manner could be most infuriating to her. She replied that Eric knew she was talking with him and didn't object. "Hooray, more torture," he chortled, eliciting a scowl from the woman. "So, he want you to do the ol' seduction thing on me or something? Cause, you don't do it for me, sorry."

"Insufferable little man," she exploded, taking the affront to her femininity hard. It was also a rare moment for Ryan to be called a 'little man' and he didn't know whether to laugh or be pissed off. Actually she wasn't unattractive, but she was large, gawky, and knew next to nothing about men. She had pretty soft brown eyes and thick blonde hair, high cheekbones and a squarish jaw, and to Ryan she needed a serious attitude adjustment. And a sense of humor. His wide mouth spread in a goofy grin and she found it hard to resist smiling in return.

Eric meanwhile sat cross-legged on the floor in his bedchamber, frustrated by his inability to See the locked-away portion of Ryan's psyche. Perhaps he should meditate.

_He recalled the warm embrace of his father, hot translucent skin and the smell of must and bleach. Tossing thin platinum hair the man who sired him laughed his endearing smile and cracked open a can of beer. The cheerleader in the back of the Blazer squealed piteously-fearing what they would all do to her._

_He experienced the soft yet strong arms of his mother, large rawboned redhaired provider who was always there for him. Ryan's body was like hers; broad and powerful with long arms and legs. Unlike Otis Driftwood who was a pale snake ready to strike indiscriminately like a shark, Ryan was a white tiger, restless and white-hot in his anger. The chaos and destruction bubbled close to the surface, always ready to erupt._

The man gasped himself awake, jolting the woman whose head was leaned against him. Ryan rubbed his big eyes and cursed inwardly. Electra yawned and he glared at her, wanting to punch her really really bad. They had talked and sang songs until he was exhausted, and even though she may have wanted to fuck him senseless and leave him vulnerable he nevertheless ended up tuckered out in the floor against the bookcase. She placed her hand on his chest to help herself upright and she became suddenly self-conscious. The hand slid around his side to hold him close, ample breasts squashed against him. "Ho, waitaminnit," he pushed against her but met some resistance-she was a woman to be reckoned with.

Awkwardly she put her lips on his and electricity raced through his body. She had no psychic talents of her own but there was something there, she augmented his own power. "Mmmmm," she said as they parted, obviously cherishing the contact. Ryan scrambled to his feet, backing to the other side of the room. She got to her feet as well, turning a pity-filled look to him. "I thank you for this time with you" she told him honestly. He stared uncomprehending at her, then heard footsteps from outside. "I will remember you, Nightwalker."

Ryan felt like a rabbit in a trap, glancing around wildly as the door was unlocked. They were going to murder him for their crazy religion, for that raving lunatic that led them. Electra's soft brown eyes were on him, and he could see she wanted him, but more she wanted him alive. If only he could use that.

For a split second he felt a welcoming, familiar prescence and was momentarily calmed. Jim! He felt him brush his psyche. _Hang in there, Tommy. Help is on the way._ Then it was jammed again, the blanket falling on him again.

"No! No," he yelped as he was hauled bodily from the chamber. The building was seemingly an unending labrynth with rooms for dining, teaching, living and sleeping. They wound their way to a vast room with high-up members of the All waiting for them. And for Ryan/Tommy, a nice cold slab in the center awaited him.

Their grey-eyed Master was there, smiling and cordial. He wasn't what you'd picture a madman or a villain to be, which was disturbing in itself. He was dressed in plain casual clothing and beckoned for the guards to place Ryan on the slab. He was jerked back in time when he woke up on a table in his father's underground lair, tubes sticking out of his arms. He grabbed one of his captor's arms and broke it, sending the man sobbing to the ground and struck another in the side of her neck. She dropped like a sack of potatoes. Scanning the place he espied four exits at each end of the room; he picked one. Ryan darted between two other surprised members when two powerful arms threaded under his shoulders and hoisted him backwards. "I'll kill you now, Ryan," Electra's voice whispered in his ear. "And it'll be messy and excruciating."

He was held in her superhuman grip, her natural strength being boosted by something, probably Logan or others with Gifts such as his own. _Hurry, Jim hurry. Somebody. Anybody._ He couldn't break loose and went limp in her arms and allowed them to strap him to the contraption. Ryan knew what the machines and the members were there for-to collect his power and add it to their own.

After a short, stirring speech on the All and their coming glory, Eric turned the proceedings over to the executioner, who wielded a long, slim knife. Ryan would've laughed if his life wasn't about to end shortly, how perfectly cartoonish! Just like a bad movie a bunch of cultists were going to stab him, no less. Golden eyes were wide and focused on the light reflecting off the shiny blade, and time seemed to slow as adrenaline pumped through his body. The man's arm began its descent, Ryan twisted violently to the right and the knife slid down his ribs and entered his side, but not very far. Then the shit officially hit the fan.

The fever, the rage was there engulfing the agent's brain: instead of expiring he did the exact opposite. Tearing out of his bonds, blood flinging and snarling like a rabid animal he snatched the knife and opened up a not-so-happy second smile in the executioner's neck. Crimson spewed over him. The pain of his rapid healing didn't improve Ryan's demeanor one bit, on the contrary he buried the weapon in a lady's skull without a second thought, jerked it out and threw it into a guard's abdomen who was coming for him. "Come on, you fuckers," he ranted, his eyes wild with bloodlust. That killer's instinct had taken over, that power Otis and others in that line had indulged in and cultivated throughout history. Someone had opened fire with guns and Ryan dimly heard Eric ordering them to stop, that getting the evil one at his full peak was even better for them.

The high priests ran for cover, unsure of what was going on. Another servant of Eric's layed hands on him, and in the blink of an eye Ryan bit out his throat _with his own teeth_. Electra stared in horror at the growing carnage, ignoring Logan's attempts to get her to do something, telepathically and by shouting at her. The sarcastic, funny, witty man she spent a day with in a small room was long gone. She took up an assault rifle and aimed at him while Eric screamed at her "What are you doing? You don't need that, subdue him! You'll ruin everything!"

"That's my brothers and sisters dying, Eric! I gotta stop it." She never took her eyes off Ryan fending off dozens of the All, gore covering his mouth, chin, and front of his shirt. Not to mention his own wound which had already stopped bleeding, but left him looking like he'd went Countess Bathory and jumped in the virgin's blood with his clothes still on.

"Hold it right there," a lady's voice rang out. All heads turned to the sound, which was caused by a petite, smartly dressed brunette in a pinstriped pantsuit and jacket. She also sported a whopping gun pointed at Electra and a bad attitude. Linny stepped toward them, noticing Ryan finally after she heard the wet crack of a neck being broken, and almost lost her nerve. He tossed the body aside like a ragdoll, teeth bared in a grimace, his face twisted into something inhuman. Recovering quickly she squeezed the trigger, populating the spot the blonde had been a moment before with lead. Electra dived facedown in an ungainly heap behind some equipment, Eric behind the table intended for Ryan. The good Brother was nearly beside himself at this point.

Ancient Celts called it the Red Fog or the Battle Rage, and cautiously Ryan's psyche peered through this mist at what he was doing and was appalled but it was either that or die. He was aware of Linny dodging and shooting like some kind of Jedi master, her every move seemingly planned before she made it. He knew she was good, but that was by no means natural what she was doing. Contorting in midair and shooting, then landing on her feet. Then he could feel his mentor Santos nearby, he was contending with Eric, whose grip on the situation was slipping.

Ryan's own grip on his sanity was also slipping.

Having another entity inhabiting one's consciousness is quite unnerving, especially when one isn't used to it. Linny had did as suggested and went loose, allowing her training and reflexes to aid the person controlling her as a puppet. Jim was having a field day with her, this was the most interactive video game he'd ever played for damn sure. His old body was in no condition to perform such feats, so Linny became his legs and hands. She just hoped the crazy old veteran realized she had no reset button if she got killed.


	3. Guess Who's Back?

Darkness...a comforting warm void that he'd been floating in for an interminable amount of time. Very slowly he drifted back to consciousness, golden eyes opening into harsh bright light. Moaning he blearily took in his surroundings and found that he was in one of BPI's observation rooms hooked to several machines. He attempted to rise but found he was strapped to the bed in which he laid. "Hello," he rasped and could hear someone stirring. Casting the net of his psyche he gratefully found he could feel their mind; it was Linny.

"I'm here, Ryan," she answered softly, appearing in his field of vision, face lined with worry. She laid a warm hand on his smooth forehead.

"What happened," he questioned, unable to remember what occured after he lost control. "Did we take Logan down?"

From her face he saw negative. From her mind he pulled what she witnessed through her eyes and saw the heedless suicide attacks by the Children of the All and Brother Eric's hurried retreat amidst the chaos. The All suffered heavy losses but the main ones eluded capture, including Electra and her adoptive father. Their cover had been blown however, and they wouldn't be recieving legitimate backing or the public's support like they were before. "Let me up, goddammit," Ryan growled.

Linny hesitated at first but found no madness in his eyes, no trace of the demon that had been unleashed on the Church. He rose carefully, stiff and sore. After checking himself he discovered faint traces of abrasions and gashes that were pretty much healed over. Glancing up at Linny he was overwhelmed with feeling for her, slid off the table and took her into his arms, heedless of the fact he was nude under the sheet that had covered him. "You...I'm so glad you came for me," he half-sobbed, clutching at her. She had left his side only long enough to change into some comfortable shorts and baggy sweatshirt, and was acutely aware of his large firm body pressed against hers.

After a few moments she pulled away, wiping away tears of relief that he was intact. That had been one of the few times in her service to the Bureau that she'd been truly terrified. Her dark shoulder-length hair was tousled and her deep brown eyes haggard but she was absolutely scrumptious to Ryan, who'd doubted he would live to see her again. He suddenly perked up, sensing a familiar prescence. _Jim! You came out of hiding, huh?_

_Had to save your skin, youngun,_ the older man replied. _Those g-men appreciate my help and promise not to fuck with me. I can go back to retirement after this._

After a few minutes the old veteran entered the room grinning. Ryan had found some clothes to put on in the interim, but not before the woman got an eyeful of how happy he was to see her. Embracing his foster father, he could tell that something was up from the tense way the soldier held himself.

"Ryan, something's happened yer not gonna be happy about," he told him. Finally he came out with it. "The Bureau for Paranormal Investigation have found your parents and brought them here."

"They WHAT? Only a handful of people even know they exist and are still alive! They'd been laying low for years. What the fuck!"

"It was the damn Church of the All," put in Linny. "They were leaking information about Otis Driftwood and Stacy Robins. So BPI snatched them before any havoc could be wrought by the Children."

"Where are they now," demanded Ryan.

"Get off my bus," screamed the unearthly looking apparition at the man directing him down the corridor. "You fuckers are shielded, huh," the slender wraith observed out loud, taking a seat in the spartan room. The only other objects in the chamber was a small table and two other chairs. Several burly guards positioned themselves in the room, their faces impassive. "Hey Fuckbag," he yelled in a gravelly, not-very-masculine voice. "I've eaten shitheads like you for breakfast. I ain't lyin." He drummed his metal fingers on the table while one of the guards swallowed. The man-if it could be called one-was lean and wiry, wearing baggy, ripped carpenter pants and ratty shirt which read 'Rock out with your cock out.'

The door opened after a moment and admitted three people: Linny, Arthur Santos and Ryan. The two men seated themselves and the slight lady took her place just behind Ryan.

"Tommy, I oughta kick yer ass over top yer head so far you'd haveta pull your shirt down to shit," intoned the pale creature. "A government toadie. Of all the shit-"

"Hi Dad," Ryan said noncommittally. Linny's eyes were saucers; she'd never had any idea of who Ryan's parents were, or why he'd just been called 'Tommy'.

"Jesus fuckin' Bob it's bright in here," Otis complained, blinking his weak eyes. He wasn't all that different since the first time Ryan had met him years ago, perhaps more gangly and sunken-eyed. The straggly white hair (more bleached out than he remembered) had been cropped to just above his shoulders, but he really hadn't aged that much, possibly due to the modifications and chemicals he'd administered to himself over the decades. The metal jaw showed some signs of use, as did the metal hand that replaced the one that had been crushed. The eyes that regarded the three were the same intelligent, calculating orbs from memory.

"What am I to call you," asked the Greek softly. "Otis B. Driftwood isn't your real name and we haven't been able to come up with a real name, a birth name."

He leaned forward, gaze fixed on the bureau administrator. Being a skilled telepath, the backwoods killer was unable to pick up his thoughts. "You can call me your death on two legs, ya Caeser salad."

"Oh I have a good estimate of how many people you've murdered. However there's not much in the way of admissible evidence, but that's beside the point. You're here for your protection even more than ours. You'd hidden yourself pretty well, Mr. Driftwood, and there'd been hardly any disappearances or bodies turning up of late."

"Don't get your hopes up, hotshot," chuckled Otis, his charisma filling the whole room. "I'll kill every last fuckin' one of you if given half a chance."

"You won't be given half a chance," Santos shrugged, his Mediterranean features impassive.

Meanwhile Ryan's mother was in a separate room being interrogated by Agent Bell, whose thick brown hair was mussed from him grabbing handfuls of it in frustration. He was disgusted by both of them, hillbilly psycho butchers he'd classified them in his own mind.

"You know what's kept him from continuing to mutilate cheerleaders and rampage the countryside? Me! I keep him occupied and content you self-absorbed nutsack." Stacy appraised him with gold-brown eyes just like Ryan's, attempting to penetrate the man's brain but found him blocked. Ah well, she smiled her dazzling smile, as yet attractive and aging very little due to Otis's 'treatments'. Tossing wavy red hair she stood and rectified the advantage he'd had standing over her. She was clad in a frilly peasant blouse and a skirt slit up one leg nearly to the waist showing off two perfectly shaped legs, one of which was stainless steel from the knee down. "Don't you think I have a particular charm," she breathed in his ear and the other men stationed in the room suddenly seemed to not exist. "I'm very good at what I do."

"I...uh, I admit you may have a point," he gulped, feeling rather warm all of a sudden. "But what do you get out of the association with that madman?" He unconsciously turned to her, and she pushed her bosom forward, her face inches from his own. He could hear her breathing in and out, each intake pressing her ample breasts against his chest.

"Hardly a soul understands him except me," she spoke very low. "He has a passion and vitality matched by very few others. He lives for the moment and shares everything with me. I love him with all my being."

Pete almost moaned with desire as she ran her hands up his sides. Her full red lips brushed his with a featherlight touch, nearly bringing him to a frenzy. This had never happened to him before, he was burning up with lust for this strange woman and nearly trembling with the effort of containing himself. Of its own accord his hand found a still-supple round breast and cupped it, feeling the nipple harden through the blouse and bra underneath. Bringing her mouth close to his ear she breathed, "Where is my husband? I hate being separated from him."

Exerting tremendous will he stepped back from her, completely baffled by his reactions, and snapped, "You'll be detained as long as is deemed necessary, Mrs. Driftwood." He turned on his heel and got the hell out of there.

"For God's sake, how is this supposed to help us get Eric Logan," demanded Ryan, quite distraught.

Arthur had already explained that the All were making a concerted effort to locate his family to use against him; the young man was blowing off steam. Not to mention the guilt over his primal fight with the cultists when he killed with his bare hands. Ryan reiterated his misgivings keeping a wild sociopath such as his father under their roof was a bad idea-Santos was well aware of the risks involved. His dark brooding eyes widened and abruptly he sped out of the room, Ryan on his heels. Oh no, what had Otis done?

Bursting into the holding room they could see blood and gore covering one whole side of the plain, undecorated wall. All the agents were dead, torn open with deadly precision. "No," cried Ryan, scanning the scene. His eyes rested on a slim body sprawled on the lone table, his father leaning over with his flesh hand gripping her neck, perhaps caressing it. The other, bionic hand dripped blood, chunks and fluids. "Linny," Ryan hollered. Otis looked up while nuzzling the downed woman's face. Leaping across the distance like an Olympic gymnast he tackled the creature that sired him, fortunately sending them against the clean wall. "I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you," he raved, Otis's faded eyes big and round as he regarded his progeny, taking the pelting fists directed at him.

"Ryan," called Santos. "Ryan, she's alive. Stand aside, the security team is here," he bodily pulled the young man up, casting a steely gaze to Otis still prone. He lay where he'd fallen, unmoving, blood covering his hands and shirt, drops of it on his already filthy trousers. _I know she's yours now, Tommy. You guys have everything shielded pretty good else I wouldn't've touched her._

_Damn liar,_ Ryan mind-spoke. _Fucking animal!_

_THAT'S IT_, boomed Arhur, having ordered BPI's telepaths and guards to lock things down. _Put him in confinement._ Meaning Otis, of course. He was pulled out kicking and swearing. Arthur ordered extra Talents to monitor Otis's mind and body and veteran agents to stand guard.

_She could feel the struggle between the two great minds: Santos and Logan. Deftly she avoided the bullets whizzing past her lithe body, one thought in her head-she must rescue Ryan. Then she heard the snap of someone's spine breaking from brute force and caught sight of him. She watched in horrorstricken fascination as he bit a cultist's throat out like some fiend out of a fairy tale, tossing the lifeless body aside like it was nothing. The fight raged on, Linny laying down fire and driving Eric and the big blonde to find cover. Then she sensed her fellow agents dying due to the link she had with Jim, who was controlling her movements with his formidable powers. The All followers were sacrificing themselves heedlessly, why? Oh, why? Then she realized Logan had made a hasty getaway, along with leading members of the church. Not thinking she dashed to Ryan to check on him, he whirled and what looked down at her was a horrid caricature of the kind face she remembered. Blood covered him head to toe and his golden eyes blazed with fury, lips pulled back across his teeth in a grimace. Snarling, he wrapped his fingers around her neck and jerked her upwards. The slim woman's feet kicked, inches off the ground. "Ryan," she croaked, beating at him with her bony fists. "Ryan..please..."_

She awoke sweating and sitting up on a lab bed, gasping for air. Instinctively she rubbed her neck where Otis had grabbed her, where..Ryan...grabbed her...

"Thank God, you've come out of it," Ryan spoke, relief in his tone. "I'm so sorry, Linny. Bringing my..father here was a bad idea."

She softened at his troubled expression. "Did none of the others survive?" He shook his head negative, she sighed. "What did they do with him? Is he-"

"No, he's under heavy surveillance. So, you got to meet my dad, such as it is." He looked sheepish. "I love him and I hate him. Does that make sense?"

Linny finally grinned tentatively, smoothing a frizzy strand of hair away from her face. "Yes, it does. He's something else, that's for sure." Ryan glanced over at her, saying he needed to know what Otis did to her. He wanted her to tell him, he didn't want to just pluck it from her. Aside from the marks on her neck and some bruises there wasn't a wound on her. Shaking her head she replied, "I don't remember much. I was standing there staring at him, he staring at me, then I was gonna check my cell phone messages. Suddenly one of the men began screaming-I looked over and Otis had pulled his intestines out. The guy was lookin' at his own guts in your father's hands. I started to run to them, one of the agents tried to protect me, ushered me back," she wiped at the tears that had begun falling.

Ryan swallowed and waited for her to continue. "The second agent pulled his gun and opened fire, but Otis fucking _dodged_ the bullets, at pretty much point-blank range. He leaped on him, disarmed him and pistol-whipped him. I could hear his jaw breaking, echoing in that small room. The next guard grabbed Otis's arm to subdue him, but he wasn't counting on his metal hand. He-buried that thing wrist-deep in the guy's chest. It was then me and the remaining guard rushed him," she was reverting to her southern drawl. "I threw a punch, Otis gripped my arm and gave me a sling, I went face-first into the wall. I staggered, tried to get my bearings when I heard this awful tearing sound. I focused and saw him ripping the man open. I nearly barfed, my legs weak as water. He came toward me and I backed away from him till I touched the table. He seemed to slither across the floor and up my body. His-his prescence overwhelmed me and I couldn't move. Then he..touched me with his flesh hand, and the only thing in the world was his face close to mine. It was gross but I liked it. Ugh! Can you understand it?"

"He tends to have that effect on people," Ryan noted drily. _Go Dad._

"The last thing I remember is him squeezing my throat, slowly but surely. I tried to hit him but my limbs just wouldn't move. Then the pressure stopped but I could still feel his caress. The next thing I remember is waking up to you."

Ryan came to the bedside. "He knows how you feel about me, he got that from your mind as you slipped into unconciousness. Or, how you felt, since now you know what sort of people my parents are."

Linny shivered, thoughts still on the incident. "He's like some full-sized redneck Gollum, only not quite as slimy," she declared. "Oh Ryan, you're not your father. You turned out fine."

He only hoped she was right.

"You think she'll do it," Anne asked him as they sat in the van full of equipment. Ryan nodded his two-toned head. "I know she said yes, but do _you_ think she will?"

He gazed over at the blonde, sighing. The unsaid statement was 'She's your mother, what do you think?' "Look, you guys pretty much threatened her, and she's not one to threaten with prosecution. Not to mention you won't let her see Dad, for obvious reasons o' course. But for me, since I'm a target for these wackos...yeah, I believe she will."

"Ryan," the older woman began while checking her weapons.

"Jesus, what? What do you want me to say?" Anne started to speak but he went on. "You seen em? My parents? They're fuckin' crazy hole-dwelling psychopaths! I wouldn't trust them as far I as could throw em! Is that what you want to hear?"

Anne gaped at him in astonishment and worry; she thought of him as a younger brother or even a son. "Your father I can sort of see why you'd say that, but your mother? Do you really hate her that much?" The pair sat on either side of the crowded van, their knees almost touching, the other agents busying themselves with surveillance. The young man started in surprise-it was the same thing Stacy had asked him when he went to see her the day before.

"Do you hate me so much, Tommy," his mother asked him, sitting at the other side of the simple table from him. Both her hands rested palms-down on the surface, face expressionless but yellow-brown eyes full of fear at what he might say. "Do you hate me for leaving you with Jim and staying with Otis?"

He'd never even confronted himself about it before, had submerged all thoughts on the subject deep inside. "Yes," he whispered. "but no, too."

A tear made its way down her cheek and still she sat unmoving. "You know why I did it, don't you? There wasn't any time to plan. You'd be taken away, we'd all be put in some institution, or worse."

"I was sixteen, Mom! I had found out I came from a criminal, murdering bunch of rednecks and lost both my mom and dad in the span of a week," he yelled, heedless of the wetness on his own cheeks. The guards shifted uneasily, ready for trouble.

"Who ran off? Who wouldn't take no for an answer," she spat back and was immediately contrite as soon as the words left her lips. "I'm-I'm sorry, Tommy. You're not to blame for anything."

"Have you even spoke with Jim yet? The guy you fucked then dumped for that thing that got me on you, then dumped your kid on?"

She gasped at the jab and his audacity. "Oh Lord Almighty," she breathed. "How could you say that?"

Ryan also was unsure of how that came out of him. "I never realized I still felt that way. Mom, I'm sorry," he grasped her hands, not flinching at the cold metal right hand that moved like her flesh-and-bone one. "I really am glad to see you despite the way I acted. That was uh...pretty uncalled-for. You, ah-look good."

She smiled slightly, squeezing his large hands back. Her face didn't show the passage of time since last time he'd snuck a visit to her several years ago. "You're lookin' well, yerself," she replied. After nearly a decade living with Otis she had adopted a hillbilly twang. What a strong, handsome man he'd become.

"No," answered the man gently. "I love them both. Heaven help me, I love them." Anne wondered at the sadness in his voice.

Go wander around, they said. Get the All to follow you, they said. Jeez, she wished she was back home with Otis. That's fine, though-she'd play their little game for now. Let loose of the Bureau's psychic restraints she cast her awareness about, sure that the Children of the All would be looking for her, and that she was being monitored.

She took in the city, hit several bars (in one night, no less), visited museums, slept in seedy motels. And not alone. _Holy shit on a stick, Mom. You goin for the record of World's Biggest Slut?_

_I'm kinda busy here, knothead. And at least he's still alive._ Stacy was at the moment on top of an intimate situation and Ryan was breaking her concentration.

_You're supposed to be working here_, he reminded her.

_Oooh, I'm hard at work. Yeah, boy._ Her partner was nibbling some sensitive parts.

_Goddammit, I can get Santos to straighten you out_. The young man was positively fuming by now.

_Whatever, I can do things with my mind too, ya know._ Stacy felt her son needed to loosen up a bit.

_You don't think he's only learned how to block telepathy all these years, do you? He can rupture your very brain, Mother dear._

She grew very still at that, causing her male companion to wonder what was going on. _You're bluffing._

_Am I? Arthur is my mentor, I learned from the best. Want me to show you?_ He sent a jolt through her skull, jerking her backwards. The man with her went along with her movement and got on top of her, taking her gasping and moaning for pleasure.

_All right, stop! Fuckballs, I'll behave_. The stabbing pain in her skull subsided, allowing her after a few moments to pay attention to what was being done to her physically.

_That guy know you have a space-age arm and leg?_

_He knows I have a fake leg. I just didn't take my glove off. Brat._

_Just make sure you're up and at 'em in the morning. Now I think I'm gonna go throw up._

_Oh surely you've seen tits and pussy before, I didn't raise you to be such a prude._ Oh, he was hittin' the spot now. She'd love to ask Otis if she could keep this one.

_Hello, you're my mom. I have enough shit I've done to feel bad about, I'd like to not make incestual voyeurism another on the list._

She laughed. "Nighty-night," she moaned.


	4. It Only Gets Weirder, and Otis Gets Some

9:06 AM, next morning. Something pricked the large woman awake, smacking her lips and rolling over from her stomach. The attractive blond thirtysomething man was still snoring beside her, the bedcovers thrown haphazardly over him and nude as she was. Stacy sat up and took in his well-muscled form...he was quite a romp last night. It was at that moment the door to the hotel room flew open, several people entering, all armed. "What the--," muttered the man as he was jolted awake. Then his mouth dropped open.

The leader seemed to be a hulking blonde with an equally big gun in her hands. Stepping forward, she snapped "Stacy Driftwood? You're coming with us."

"I don't think so," commented Stacy as she slid out of bed unashamedly. A couple of the intruders pointed their weapons at her companion; the redhead was informed that they'd shoot her friend. She shrugged. "I don't know him, I just met him yesterday, smart guys. Do want ye want."

He stared at her disbelievingly. "You can't--"

"Shut up," both parties demanded.

"Guess we'll have to take her forcibly," the blonde spoke, motioning to the other cultists. Stacy merely stood there until they got within arm's reach, then her metal arm shot out and broke one of the group's cheekbone, the force sending them to their rear end on the floor. Another attempted to bash her with his gun but she ducked aside and nailed his shin with her bionic foot, the bones satisfyingly giving away. Screams soon added to the sounds of the scuffle, then suddenly Stacy felt a little sting in her left breast. Glancing down she found a small dart hanging from her chest; she yanked it out. She immediately felt the effects, staggering back a pace. Still she managed to break another All follower's hand before she dropped heavily to the floor unconscious. The man she'd picked up last night was soon left alone sitting up in bed and blinking like an owl in the sunlight.

"She's a freakin' maniac, that one," complained Omar, dark eyes surly as he started up the engine of the SUV.

"She's gorgeous," sighed another of the Children, even though she'd broken his hand. Stacy was laying on her side motionless in the plush back seat, a long trenchcoat buttoned hastily around her and hands handcuffed behind her back. Wavy reddish hair covered her face partially, revealing an arched eyebrow and half a set of full lips.

Electra chuckled. "She's older than your mother, Jason--and crazier than a fox. She gave birth to the demonspawn we hunt, never forget that."

The young man ceased gazing at the inert woman and murmured his acquiescence. They began driving. A yellow eye fluttered open and focused, then closed again.

_They think they have me, do they? These freaks and that damned Bureau, they think they both got me. I told my son I'd do this but I didn't say what I'd do after I led BPI to em._

And little did the All know that in Stacy's bionic arm was a tracking device that would lead BPI straight to them.

"They're moving," exclaimed a Bureau detective.

"Let's go," commanded Anne, coordinating the tracking.

A white head snapped up, one belonging to a gangly figure sitting in a corner with knees drawn up to his chest. He wasn't even quite sure of what he was capable of psychically but he'd had treatments for many years. He'd also pushed his talents as much as possible over the years for just such an occasion as this. Heh. Mental shielding by the g-men, ineed. He'd felt his wife for a split second then the filter was back, but he'd felt it. He blinked his bloodshot eyes and flexed his hands, considering his next move. He knew his body chemistry was extremely unstable as the Bureau now knew from the tests; he could live relatively unchanged another 50 years or drop dead tomorrow. He'd worked hard to keep it from Stacy, and that was fuckin' difficult since she shared both body and mind with him. He dearly loved his wife and his love was given rarely.

God, he missed Baby too.

He hit upon a lovely idea when guards came to check on him. Grabbing one by the throat with his metal hand he told the others he'd crush his windpipe. "Get the Greek," he told them, standing behind the hapless guard. Within moments the short supervisor was there, looking nonplussed.

"What can I help you with, Driftwood? I'd hate to have you terminated, seeing how Ryan feels about you. I don't like killing, either."

"Gimme that gun," he indicated one of the agents' weapons. It was handed over to his normal hand. Fast as lightning he released the guard and latched onto Santos, holding the automatic weapon to his head. "Move away," he barked, making his way out into the hall, bionic hand grasping Santos' neck in a vise grip. The BPI supervisor could sense the power in his wiry arms, accustomed to hard labor and the brutal murdering of his fellow man. Bell had some of his troops moving in behind them but Santos had him call them off. He didn't know if any of them could get the drop on this psychobilly and didn't want to chance it.

"What IS this place," asked Ryan, meaning the huge building they had pulled up in front of. It appeared to be an abandoned factory--hundreds of All crazies could be waiting for them inside. The young man took a deep breath and readied himself for the endeavor. As the BPI agents fanned out, a figure emerged from the structure with submachine gun in hand. "Mom," he called, wondering what she'd been up to. The auburn-headed mother of his wore a surprised expression on her face--she'd been planning on making a clean getaway.

"Tommy," she spoke with genuine concern. "I guess I was a bit too much for them to handle."

"Get your ass back in there," Anne motioned with her gun. She wasn't going to let her out of her sight.

"All right, Miss Thang," sniffed Stacy. When her captors brought her to this place she continued laying motionless while they bundled her into a holding room, where she'd lain until her jailors let their guard down. She struck like a merciless storm, killing indiscriminately. Bullets pinged off her bionic arm and a couple hit her but she seemed to hardly feel it in her rage and excitement, along with the fact that like Otis her body's makeup had been altered.

"Drive," intoned the pale snake, finally releasing his grip on the dark-haired gentleman but keeping the lowered gun trained on him. The Bureau automobile took off, driving toward the ultimate confrontation. Otis breathed deeper in seeming relief, when Santos informed him they would be followed by the whole US government. They continued driving for a few silent minutes.

"Then I oughta pop yer skull like a ripe melon right here," rumbled the gangly madman. His finger began tightening on the trigger.

"You would definately seal your fate then, Otis. You'd be pursued and surrounded by everything we could muster."

"So what, then, Hotshot," he said bemusedly.

His captive glanced over with his big dark eyes. "Let me go, and I will let you go. There will be no pursuit."

"What, yer just gonna let me go," Otis said incredulously. "You know what I can do, Apollo."

_I know you just want to be with your son and your wife, Tim. A noble desire--and I am well aware she keeps you out of trouble. I also think of Ryan as a son._ Otis's faded eyes widened. _That's what she called you, wasn't it? That girl you had a crush on when your were thirteen. She liked the name Tim. Then she found another to give her affection to, and you killed her._ Otis realized what a powerful telepath Santos was, and found himself perhaps a little in awe of the dimunitive Greek. Arthur pulled the car over to the side of the road and put it in park; his 'abductor' lowered his weapon.

"If I hear word of any mayhem perpetrated by you, I can have you killed so very easily."

"Huh. We'll have to see on that one. Now get off my bus!"

Electra had been waiting on the Bureau and led a group of members in an ambush which sent Ryan and the others scrambling for cover. Stacy was still clad only in the trenchcoat which left little to the imagination and he was trying not not look at her. Suddenly she perked up. "Otis is on his way," she squealed happily, eyes sparkling.

"What," exclaimed Ryan and Anne together. Bullets whizzed past as the All pelted them.

"This bitch is seriously pissing me off," growled the redhead. She broke and rushed toward them oblivious of the shots being fired her way, tackling the blonde and sending them both to the floor. Her gun clattered to the floor and her fellow Children watched, unable to get a clean shot as the women struggled. "Thought you'd caught me, didn't ya," hissed Stacy and punched the Amazon in the face with her robot hand. It was a blow that would've sent any other woman to la-la land but she took it with only a grunt and rolled Stacy off of her. Electra immediately went to work on Stacy but it hardly fazed her. Finally the cultists came in at Stacy who slipped out of their grip as Ryan and his backup attacked.

Electra and her fellow members faded into the shadows without a sound as well leaving their dead. Anne Dobbs swore at the loss of Stacy, who was who-knows-where at this point. "We can't allow her to get away!"

"We'll have to deal with that later," Ryan told her drily as he reloaded his gun.

"What could she possibly be after," the older woman wondered.

"Her husband." _God help us all, but they do belong together._ He was partly right, for his mother was also after her clothes and effects which she knew the church had in their posession.

Otis eyed the building as he pulled to a stop, reaching for his gun. On a whim he opened the glovebox to check for anything of interest, and saw his huge razor-sharp Bowie knife, sitting pretty as you please. He knew! Somehow, Santos knew what would happen. Grinning nonetheless the albino tucked it in his boot and exited the automobile. He met some resistance as he slithered inside which he dispatched nonchalantly, trying to hone in on his wife.

His son meanwhile had found his way to a small room, probably a former office, with a few of the agents who were left. Logan and two of his most powerful followers, a man and a woman, turned to face them with blank faces. Eric was dressed in a long tunic and loose trousers and seemed to have been expecting him. "You've come to fulfill your destiny, I see," he spoke calmly.

"I'm harder to kill than that."

"I wasn't talking of that. I foresaw my death last night, you see--and you are the catalyst. So I've taken precautions." He stood unmoving as the agents moved in to surround them.

"What do you mean," asked the young man with a sinking heart, golden eyes narrowed to slits.

"I passed much of my strength and purpose to the one you let get away," he chuckled in the face of his own destruction. "The Good Deity will have his will one way or another."

Oh Jesus, Electra was still out there, along with his parents and here he was jabbering with this old lunatic! But if he allowed Eric to live and go free then he'd simply set up house somewhere else and be a thorn in his side. Aw, fuck it. The welll-built man aimed his firearm at the cult leader.

"You don't think I'd let you have it the easy way, do you," said Logan, raising his hands and pushing them with telekinetic force. Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

"So, the demon comes forth," the blonde lady said while cocking her gun. The familiar warehouse now held untold danger and it unsettled her. The tall, muscular woman peered from behind a group of barrels, squinting, and found nothing. She could hear him moving but couldn't determine from what direction. She was thankful she had learned to shield herself from telepathic prying for she knew he was probably more powerful than Ryan, his son.

"Oh I've come to do the Devil's work ya nutty bitch," came the high-toned voice from behind her. Whirling she ducked just in time as Otis let loose a hail of bullets from his handgun. "I can't believe you people, havin my ass dragged from my comfortable home! I had peace an' quiet and my wife!"

Electra scrambled toward a stack of boxes, yelling "We didn't drag your ass anywhere, Nightwalker. That agency _your son_ works for did that, we only wanted Ryan, Tommy, whatever you wanna call him."

"I'm gonna kill that boy," Otis growled, rubbing his sensitive eyes. "After I kill this Jesus-bitch." He was behind a large pile of junked machinery and breathing heavy--his blood was up. Only the blood of the big woman would suffice to quell it. They both exchanged fire until his gun was empty. Shit, out of ammo. Pulling out his Bowie knife he rushed her, favoring one leg but moving at some speed nonetheless. Electra continued firing at him but suddenly he was on her, seeking an opening to stab her. She blocked with her gun but soon lost her footing and fell backwards, the smaller man wildeyed and thrusting with his weapon. Ohh, how he wanted to bleed her, have his way with her blue-lipped corpse. She sent a silent prayer to the Maker as the blade sliced her forearm, then pierced her upper arm as she fought desperately.

She struck at his face but her large fist bounced off his metal jaw, and she noticed she had gotten him--there was a bullethole in his shoulder which leaked something that didn't look like normal blood. What _was_ he? What had he done to himself all these years? True fear now engulfed the cult lieutenant as Otis cackled and tried to stab her; by the All his strength was incredible for someone his age! Suddenly his head snapped around. He must've sensed something for he rolled to the side of her after his knife had entered her side, making her double up with pain. More members of the Church of the All had come to assist Electra, their leader's second in command and adopted daughter. Still behind the boxes, Electra started to call to them but a bionic metal hand clamped down over her mouth. Grinning his disarming, charming smile he took his regular hand and dipped it in the blood on her forearm and smeared it on the button-up blouse she was wearing, tracing around her breasts and up her long, smooth neck. To be close to seventy he radiated enormous virility and energy, and she noticed the bullet wound she'd given him had already almost closed. She whimpered involuntarily and he bent closer to lick her earlobe and bloody jaw. Electra nearly retched.

She wondered how the beautiful, accomplished Stacy Robins could love such a creature, when someone shouted "Otis! Where are you?"

He groaned. "That crazy woman o' mine," he muttered. Right on cue gunfire started up. However, Stacy hadn't survived all these years by being soft and stupid, and she wouldn't have captured and kept Otis's interest either. He heard the screams of men losing their lives and smiled his shark's smile. "Over here, darlin," he called to her sweetly.

Stacy, resplendent in her baby t-shirt and skirt, picked off the cultists with her crossbow. She too had a metal arm and a bionic lower leg, as well. Otis's experimenting had made them both an amalgam of flesh and steel, also bestowing prolonged life and psychic abilities in varying degrees. "You got that Amazon," she yelled.

"Oh, yeah," he replied, kneading a full breast as Electra moaned in disgust. Otis hadn't had a woman fight him this hard since...well, Stacy. He'd like to fuck this one _before_ he killed her.

Wind whipped at the Bureau agents and they attempted with their own powers to quell it. At the same time Logan was trying to find his way past their defenses to crush their minds and began trembling with the effort. Ryan couldn't seem to squeeze the trigger all the way and put an end to the crazed priest no matter how hard he strained.

Anne had been sidelined by Omar who'd gotten the drop on her, effectively disarming the veteran investigator. Suddenly he twitched and his dark eyes boggled; he slumped forward lifeless. A familiar figure was behind him, smiling her lopsided grin. "Gina," Anne exclaimed, glad to see the scar-faced lady. The brunette tucked away the knife she'd stuck Omar with in a flash, retrieving the elder woman's weapon and handing it to her. "And you thought Ryan training me was a bad idea," Gina said good-naturedly.

"You're still trouble," snorted the blonde in jest.

The double entity known as Gina giggled--the young woman carried within her a several-thousand-year-old Celtic war goddess known as Badb. When she could be controlled Gina harnessed great powers, but keeping her subjugated was a challenge at times.

_Christ, she's tight_, Otis thought as he used Electra. Holy hell he was almost ready to orgasm already--of course he'd been separated from Stacy for a while. He'd pulled her skirt up and cut her panties off her in a cloud of lust. She tried to bear it in silence but let out a squeal occasionally when fresh pain tore at her: she was a virgin, or at least had been. The only men she'd been around were Logan, Omar and a very few others. She'd feel humiliated later, right now all she felt was pain and a building rage as he continued thrusting in and out of her. A few moments later he shuddered in climax, slumping on her completely spent. He was surprisingly light even for a wiry guy like him. He was breathing heavily on her shoulder and Electra wondered if she'd be able to move even if she tried.

"Feel better," came a sarcastic voice. Otis got to his feet, buttoning his pants back on. He turned to Stacy who was observing with arms folded across her chest. Electra gasped for air, still sprawled on the ground as Otis left her.

"I certainly do, sweetie," came the reply. "Don't eeeeeven start with me. I smell another man on you from here."

"Too bad you spent all those lil Otis's on the tough broad, I'm feelin a lil frisky mahself." He gave her a look which read, give me a little time, baby. Just then a roar echoed throughout the whole factory, followed by a rumble. Was the whole place going to go down? What the hell?


End file.
